


Next of Kin

by KatieComma



Series: Cairo Day 2019 [4]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Bad Things Happened, But yeah... no smut, Cairo Day 2019, Close Calls, Day 5, First Kiss, Fluffy, I need to be VERY CLEAR, JACK DOES NOT DIE, Jack left, M/M, No Smut, Spoiler... sorry... but it needed to be said, i know right?!?, macdalton, sooooo much angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 01:30:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18458687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieComma/pseuds/KatieComma
Summary: Jack's been gone 2 months.Mac gets a call.“Mr. MacGyver, you’re listed as his next of kin-”





	Next of Kin

**Author's Note:**

> Started AGES ago... and finished for Cairo Day Celebrations - Day 5 - Close Calls
> 
> Seemed appropriate.

Mac felt less guilty each time he laughed, but the guilt wouldn’t fade entirely. It had been two months since Jack had left, almost to the day. The first few Daltonless days, Bozer’s jokes got a half-hearted grin out of Mac. but Riley’s one-liners had reminded him too much of Jack, and he wouldn’t even smile at those.

Flash forward two months and Riley was wrestling with Bozer in the war room, trying to get ahold of the chocolate bar he’d stolen from her on the premise of one bite; his one bite had been substantial. Like, half the chocolate bar substantial.

Mac laughed and felt a muscle twinge in his gut. A muscle that he hadn’t felt since before Jack had left. A muscle that meant he was laughing right from the bottom of his gut. And the guilt hit him like a freight train. Mac was laughing, fully, deeply laughing. Without Jack. And Jack could be anywhere in the world. Jack could be hurting or watching soldiers die. Or watching civilians die. And not only would Mac not know, but Mac wasn’t there. He couldn’t help.

Mac dropped into one of the deep, comfortable chairs of the war room suddenly. His knees had buckled, the air gone from his lungs. Would it be like this forever now? Was there no joy to be had in anything? Would Jack ever come back?

“You ok Mac?” Riley’s asked softly, nearer than she had been.

The raucous was gone. The fight over, and Mac hadn’t even noticed.

He waved her concern away and tried for a smile that felt like a grimace. “Yeah, yeah,” he said. “I’m fine. Just got a little dizzy there.”

“You sure?” Bozer asked. He held up the chocolate bar that Riley hadn’t been able to get away from him. “If you need to raise your blood sugar, I’ve got the smooshed up remains of a Snickers here.”

Mac smiled again, and it felt more genuine. “Naw, thanks Boze, I’m good.”

Still waiting on Matty, an awkward air hanging around them, Mac grabbed several paper clips and pulled out his Swiss Army Knife. Even though it wasn’t the same knife Jack had given him, it still reminded him of Jack.

Mac’s phone rang and brought him out of his thoughts. The number was private. Maybe Matty? Calling to say she’d be late?

“Hello?” Mac answered casually, continuing to tinker with his paper clips.

“Is this Angus MacGyver?” The voice was curt and abrupt. Maybe a hint of an accent, but he couldn’t place it.

“This is he,” Mac replied. He wasn’t concerned by weird calls from weird places. Happened all the time.

“I’m calling in regards to Sargent Jack Dalton,” the voice was crisp.

Mac dropped his paperclips to the floor and sat up tall. His mouth was dry, but he managed to choke out: “What… what about him?”

“Mr. MacGyver, you’re listed as his next of kin-”

Mac thought he would vomit. The grief boiled up in his stomach. Gut-shot. Like he’d been punched. Like the first time he’d met Jack, and Jack’s fist had met his stomach. Tears welled up in his eyes. If he hadn’t been sitting already he would have collapsed. He gasped for air.

The voice on the other end continued as though they weren’t giving him the worst news he could get. “- he’s in critical condition in the Army Hospital in Landstuhl, Germany. We are looking at possibly having to make some tough decisions and need to know that you’ll be reachable.”

“What… what happened?” Mac asked, unable to think of anything else. Jack was alive. That was all that mattered. He was tough. He’d make it.

“That’s classified Mr. MacGyver,” the voice said.

Mac wanted to laugh. If only they knew that his clearance was way above their pay grade.

“We wanted to inform you of his condition in case-”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Mac choked out. He did the quick calculations for flight time and time zones in his head. “Tomorrow morning. Tomorrow afternoon at the latest.”

A long sigh from the other end. “Mr. MacGyver. You don’t need to come here,” there was pity in the voice. “Truth be told there’s not too much to see. We don’t know if he’ll recover at all. But it is policy that you are notified. Especially since we may have to-”

Mac coughed away his grief. “Tomorrow afternoon at the latest,” he interrupted.

“Very well.”

Mac hung up; they didn’t have any other information that he needed. He stood up and left the room without saying a word.

“Mac!” Bozer called out.

“What’s going on?” Riley asked, chasing him out into the hall.

Mac went straight for Matty’s office and met her on the way.

“I need the jet,” Mac said.

“Mac, can this wait?” She asked, looking at the tablet in her hands. “We’ve got a situation in-” She looked up and stopped her words dead.

“The jet,” Mac said again, followed by a heavy swallow.

“Of course Mac,” Matty answered. “But I need to know what for.”

“Jack,” Mac said, simply.

Riley’s breath caught in her throat behind him. “How bad?” She asked, before Matty could.

Mac couldn’t even look at her, but spoke to Matty instead. Something in her eyes was grounding for him, kept the emotion from spilling over. “Critical. I need the jet.”

“Alright,” Matty said, clearing away the windows she’d been looking at on her tablet, and pulling up new ones. “I need a destination so they can start on the flight plan.”

“The Army Hospital in Landstuhl, Germany.”

“Alright Mac,” Matty said. “You’ll be in the air within the hour.”

“Thanks Matty,” he said, a little relief seeping in. He was doing something. Taking action. He’d get there, and Jack would be alright. He turned away, needing to get the go-bag he kept at the Phoenix for last minute missions.

Riley was right behind him and he almost ran her over. Her face was a wreck, all wide eyes, and tears forming, and pain twisting her eyebrows and mouth. In that moment he realized they were kindred spirits; the two people in the world who cared the most about Jack. For two months Mac had been hurting and hiding it. But now that her careful facade was breaking, he realized Riley had been doing the same. Each second he watched her exterior crack a little further, tears threatening, lip quivering. Mac knew that the best way to keep her sane was to give her a task. The task he had in mind would be hard for her, and he knew he should pick someone else, but she was the best person for the job.

“I’m coming with you,” she said, before he could say anything to her.

“Of course,” Matty said behind them.

Mac nodded, and took her shoulder, turning her back down the hall to walk with him. “Riles,” he whispered. “I need a little favour.”

“Anything Mac,” she said.

“I need you to hack into the DoD ops files and find out what happened,” he said.

“You got it Mac,” she said, splitting away from him to head back to the war room where she’d left her rig.

Once Mac got his hands on his go-bag he started to shake. It was really happening. The thing he’d been dreading. The thing he’d been thinking about for the past two months.

Alone, in the locker room. His body let go. He sobbed once and then sucked all the emotion back in and pressed it deep down inside. He was practiced at it, so it didn’t take much effort.

He hadn’t used his go-bag in so long, that the last time he’d packed it, Jack had still been around. When he opened the flap to double check the contents he found a pack of beef jerky. He always made sure to have extra food for Jack. Whenever they were stuck somewhere, if Jack got hungry, everyone in fifty miles knew about it. Mac grabbed an extra bag of jerky from his locker and stuffed it inside.

Once he was sure he had everything he needed, Mac ran to find Riley.

 

 

Riley and Bozer had both fallen into fitful sleep in the bunks at the back of the plane.

Mac sat up alone. Thinking. His brain just wouldn’t stop. It hadn’t stopped since Jack had been gone. That had always been Jack’s super power: keeping Mac’s brain in check, keeping him focused. Without Jack it was like wielding a laser without a lens.

On missions it was ideas. Without Jack’s endless chatter he just couldn’t think. Jack’s rumbling voice was the white noise that let Mac see through everything going on in his head to the one idea that was the right one. But since Jack had left, it took three or four ideas before he found the solution to any problem.

But sitting on a plane, with nothing to think about… It wasn’t inventions on his mind. Not equations or hypotheses. Just Jack. And the goodbye.

The goodbye that had left Mac drained of everything. The goodbye that gave him something he never knew he’d had and then took it away in an instant. The goodbye that had become something so much more than just a goodbye. It had changed Mac’s life.

Mac remembered the day so well. Jack had been worked up from the details of another attack by Kovacs. Mac had seen it working on Jack. The way his eyes had darted around, and his muscles wouldn’t relax. He'd been pacing around his apartment like a crazy person when Mac showed up.

Jack had texted and asked him to come hang out. And when Mac got there, Jack had been in a frenzy. He’d explained about the task force he was going to head, and that he was leaving in 48 hours. When Mac had said: No problem, where you go, I go, Jack had shut him down.

Mac had thought he’d been invited over to solve a problem: get Kovacs without Jack being put in harm's way, but that wasn’t it at all. 

“Oh, so you invited me here to-”

Jack had finally calmed down a little, his eyes misting up. “To say goodbye to a good friend.”

Mac had gotten angry. He knew, without too much digging into himself, that he was angry at being left again for obvious reasons. Because it was Jack doing the leaving. Of all people: Jack. How many times had this been a conversation between them? “Jack, get out of here!” Garnering a reply like: “Not without you hoss.” Or Mac’s personal favorite: “You go kaboom, I go kaboom.” Was it just so easy to leave that behind? To pretend that promises had never been made, out loud or with meaningful looks or handshakes or hugs?

“A good friend?” Mac had asked angrily with a shrug. “That’s it? Just a good friend?

“Listen man, don’t make this any harder than it’s got to be,” Jack had replied. “You gotta know I’d take you with me if I could.”

“You didn’t even try!” Mac spat. “You didn’t even ask. Just: no, that’s above my pay grade. Since when have we ever played by the rules Jack? Since when have we ever let someone tell us we couldn’t do something?”

“Since we were in the Army,” had been Jack’s serious reply. “Back to following the rules man. Back to letting Uncle Sam use me however they damn well please.”

“No,” Mac said simply. “You can’t.”

Jack’s voice had been gruff. “I have to, you know that. This guy’s out there because I didn’t take care of it. I didn’t finish the job.” Jack took a step closer, shook his head and let out a little laugh that let loose a tear to spill down his cheek. “You remember that time you took off on me in the sandbox?”

Mac hadn’t wanted to reminisce, hadn’t wanted to relive old times. He’d wanted to be angry. He’d wanted to lash out at Jack and fight with him the way they had that first time they’d met.

Jack hadn’t waited for a reply. “Yeah, I called in that we were headin’ back, and you took off runnin’. Said you knew there was a bomb out there just waitin’ to explode and kill somebody. Another soldier. A civillian. A child. You knew if you didn’t get that damn thing and it took somebody out, that’d be on you.” He paused, and Mac could see the emotion eating at him.

“Yeah,” Mac had breathed out. He’d understood. But that didn’t mean he had to like it.

“Well this is my IED man,” Jack had said. “I can’t let somebody else get hurt cause I didn’t do my job.” Jack had put his hands on Mac’s shoulders. “And he’s hurtin’ so many people man. I gotta go.”

“I know,” Mac had deflated.

The firm grip Jack took on his shoulders had grounded him. Made him feel like he could breathe again. Soon that firm grip would leave. And Mac would be a scatter of thoughts and emotions without focus, or purpose despite the orders he’d be given. What was there in the world that he could say to tell Jack how much he meant?

Mac had the sudden urge to lash out, and he thought it would be fists against Jack’s chest. But he’d surprised both of them when it manifested as a kiss so hard that it hurt when his lips had pressed back into his teeth. Jack’s mouth had responded at first, but then Jack’s strong grip on Mac’s shoulders had separated them enough that their foreheads pressed together, but their lips stayed apart.

“Woah, woah, hoss,” Jack’s voice had been gravelly, but despite how well Mac knew the man, he couldn’t tell if it was with sadness, or excitement, or disgust. “You sure about this? Cause if you’re not sure-”

“Jack,” Mac had sighed out. “Just shut up already.” And then he’d pulled Jack back to silence him, their mouths working together this time.

Mac hadn’t known it was there hiding inside him. Not until he was forced to admit it and bring it forward because it might be the last chance to ever admit it. But there it had been: plain as day. His love for Jack was bound up in everything they’d done together, said to each other, or not said.

 

 

“Hey man,” Bozer’s tired voice, accompanied by a yawn, broke into Mac’s thoughts.

Mac sat up guiltily as though Bozer would see what he’d been thinking. That day belonged to him and Jack alone. They hadn’t told anyone about it. And Mac wondered if the whole thing hadn’t been a big mistake. That idiom that it’s better to have loved and lost than never loved at all, must have been written by someone who’d never lost. Because it hurt so much each and every day that Mac thought he was going to break in two.

“What’s up?” Mac asked.

Bozer looked like he’d just tossed and turned in his bunk.

“Oh man, I feel nasty,” Bozer replied, falling into the seat across the aisle. “It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah,” Mac said simply. He didn’t have anything to say to anyone. He just wanted to see Jack.

“You ok, Mac?” Bozer asked.

“Yeah,” Mac replied again.

“Is that the only word you know now? Yeah?”

Mac smiled a little, but he didn’t feel it inside, it was all for Boze’s benefit. “Yeah,” he answered again.

“Guys! Guys!” Riley’s voice carried up from the back of the plane, followed by her feet stomping down the aisle.

Mac jumped up out of his chair. Something had happened. _Jack was gone!_ The thought jumped to the front of Mac’s brain before he could logically beat it back. They wouldn’t be calling Riley. Mac was Jack’s next of kin. If anything happened, they would have called Mac. And his cell had been silent since takeoff.

Once Mac’s heart was back inside his ribcage and not caught in his teeth, he was able to form words again. “What’s going on Riley?”

“I got in!” She answered. “I set my decryption to do it’s thing while I was trying to get some shut eye,” another turn of phrase she’d picked up from Jack, “and it’s finally done. I got through.” She didn’t even bother to find a seat, just kneeled down between the chairs in the aisle.

Mac fell back into his chair and looked eagerly at her screen.

Riley was navigating through databases quickly, knowing exactly what she was looking for and where to go. Her fingers flew quicker than his eye could even see. But suddenly they stopped.

“What is it?” Mac asked eagerly, never confident or sure when it came to all the hacking stuff. She’d stopped on a screen full of coding and file names, and he didn’t what any of it meant. “What’s wrong?”

Riley’s mouth opened like she wanted to say something, but instead she just looked up through her lashes at him in that puppy dog way she had that she’d also learned from Jack. She looked afraid. Finally she spoke. “Are we sure we wanna do this?” She asked.

“Course,” Bozer jumped in right away. “We wanna know what’s going on. Right? Don’t we?” He’d sounded so confident to start, but by the end of the sentence, he was fully asking, and looking to Mac for the answer.

Mac knew Riley was right. Whatever details and pictures were in that file could be gruesome. They had no idea what state Jack was in. But Mac knew, that if he could watch the video of Pena dying, he could look at anything.

“If you guys…” Mac trailed off, and he held out his hands for the computer. “Don’t want to see. There’s no shame in that. I can do it by myself.”

Riley quirked a little smile, but the fear and worry didn’t leave her big brown eyes. “Yeah? You gonna navigate through this DoD database on your own without setting off any alarms?”

Mac sighed, frustrated when he should have been amused by the friendly banter. “Whatever,” he said, irritated, “but I need to see it. So, help me or don’t. But…” There wasn’t anything else to say.

Riley looked at Bozer. He didn’t move from his seat and nodded.

Riley jabbed quickly at the keyboard and file opened.

 

 

Mac didn’t know what to expect. After looking over the file on the explosion, he’d known all about the bomb. But there’d been no photos of the victims. He’d read the list of injuries, but it didn’t prepare him to see Jack.

Next of kin only. No one else. Bozer and Riley were forced to wait outside.

Probably for the best, Mac thought as he stood outside the door, afraid to open it.

All he’d wanted for the entire 11 hour flight was to rush into Jack’s hospital room and be next to him, so that no matter what happened, they’d be together. If it was going to be the end. Mac would be there.

But now he stood outside the door, trying to find the resolve to look on someone with primary blast injuries, and try to recognize that person as someone he knew and loved.

Mac took a deep breath, opened the door, and went inside.

It was so much worse than he’d expected. And instead of the grief he’d tried to prepare for, he was overwhelmed with anger again. He’d looked through the files, read through the details on the bomb. If he’d been there, it wouldn’t have happened like it did. It would have been any other mission and they’d be on their way home by now. Instead, Jack had left him behind. Mac had let Jack leave him behind.

The beep of monitors echoed around the small room. So many machines were hooked up to the body in the bed that Mac could barely spot the person under all the tubes and wires. But a hand and forearm lay on top of the blankets on one side, sticking out of the sleeve of the hospital gown. Mac barely knew it was an arm, it was so purple with bruises, an IV sticking out at what seemed like an odd angle. Several bandages covered the skin. Based on what Mac had read, there were lacerations from debris over almost all of Jack’s body, aside from his torso where his tac vest had done its job and protected him.

A lone chair waited beside the bed, as though Mac should have been there before. That chair was too cold, and had sat unused for too long, while the occupant of the bed had been alone and uncomforted.

Mac walked to the chair, and the closer he got the more his anger surged. Tubes came from Jack’s mouth and nose. Based on the file, it was just a precaution in case of Blast Lung, but watching the machine hiss and pump air into Jack’s body was almost too much. Mac’s feet stopped, and he closed his eyes and turned away. For a second he thought his body might just walk out, unable to deal. But he clenched his jaw, took in a deep breath through his nose, and opened his eyes again.

Mac wanted to find Kovacs and beat him to a bloody pulp with bare fists. Unfortunately, Kovacs’ own bomb had done Mac’s work for him, and the terrorist was finally dead for good. They had recovered a body and confirmed it. But that didn’t help Mac. There was no outlet now for his rage.

Mac sat in the chair, elbows on knees, face in his hands. Around him the sounds continued: beep, beep, beep, whir, hiss, clack, beep, beep, beep, whir, hiss, clack… a never ending loop that became the mantra: Jack, Jack, Jack, alive and well, Jack, Jack, Jack, alive and well…

He’d memorized all the details from the file. Jack had primary, secondary, tertiary, and quaternary blast injuries. Every single type of blast injury that can be suffered; lacerations all over his body from the debris, severe abdominal hemorrhaging, possible concussion, very minor possibility of Blast Lung, broken ribs and left radial bone… the list was extensive. Jack Dalton was being held together with staples, bandages and tape. He was so lucky to be alive. Others hadn’t been so lucky. One of the MI6 agents hadn’t made it. And Caleb Worthy, Jack’s other Delta on the team, had been too close to the blast and died instantly.

The door opening surprised Mac, and he wiped at the tears that had been silently sneaking out of his eyes without his permission. He wondered if they’d decided to let Riley and Bozer in. But when he looked up he saw a nurse coming in, dragging a cart with him.

The nurse looked at Mac, and then at Jack and went about his business. Working in an army hospital probably meant going in and out of similar rooms all day long, with similar sufferers and family members inside. No strange sight.

“You need anything?” The guy asked, American accent, as he pushed some more drugs into Jack’s IV. “Coffee or anything?”

“Naw, thanks man,” Mac said, watching Jack’s chest fill with the whir of the machines.

“Ok, well, if you need anything…” the nurse left the offer hanging in the air and pulled his cart toward the door.

“Uh,” Mac looked up, thinking suddenly there was one thing that he did need.

The nurse turned, and the sympathy in his eyes was somehow comfort instead of pity.

Mac reached out toward Jack’s arm, the unbroken one, but didn’t touch. “Can I…” He didn’t know how to ask: I just want to touch him, can I touch him?

The nurse smiled and walked to Mac’s side. “If you’re careful,” he said gently. “And don’t move anything around too much.” He demonstrated by looping his fingers around Jack’s hand and holding loosely. “Like this.”

Once the nurse’s hand was out of the way, Mac immediately put his own in its place. Jack’s skin was cool to the touch. And not having Jack grab him back with that tight grip of his hurt down deep.

“Yup, just like that,” the nurse said. “But don’t fall asleep like that, cause if you move in your sleep you’ll just hurt him. Same if you move him around too much.”

“Got it,” Mac said dismissively.

The nurse left silently. No goodbye, no other offers.

Mac looked closer at Jack. He was skinnier than he’d been. No doubt there weren’t many opportunities for beers or burgers while running an international task force. And the muscles of his shoulders and chest were a bit bigger than they had been. Two months could be a long time for a body that wasn’t used to military service anymore. Jack’s stubble had grown out to almost be a real beard. But they’d been keeping his hair trimmed short, even his mohawk was gone. Man did Mac love that mohawk. Even the thought of it brought a smile to his face.

Mac quietly held Jack’s hand for a while, loose, and careful not to jar anything. But once he’d become accustomed to the sound of the machines, and he felt the silence hanging between them, that Jack would usually fill, he felt a need to let his emotions out.

“Listen Jack…” he started, and faltered, ducking his head as more tears came out of his eyes. He shook his head as though that would somehow get rid of them. It didn’t. He started again. “I don’t know why you didn’t take me Jack,” he said, and the bitterness in his voice tasted rotten, but he couldn’t help it. “If you’d just had your bomb nerd with you, you wouldn’t be laying here man. We’d be back home right now sipping beers on the deck. And do you have any idea how much that kills me?” He wanted to squeeze Jack’s hand for emphasis, but kept his fingers loose. “You go kaboom, I go kaboom, right? When did the world get so fucking complicated that we don’t have that anymore?” 

He wanted to scream. But kept himself composed. This wasn’t really Jack’s fault. And just like that, the rage fell apart and became grief and fear and all of the fragile, weak emotions that had been hiding underneath. And he couldn’t have stopped the tears no matter how hard he tried. They coursed down his face cutting wet, itchy streams across his cheeks. “God Jack, I’m so sorry. Please. I shouldn’t have let you go without me. I should have followed. But you have to stay. Please, I am so sorry. Don’t go,” he sobbed the last, and then words left him for a while. 

And then it was just silent tears and those sounds that were so familiar already: beep, beep, beep, whir, hiss, clack. Jack, Jack, Jack, alive and well. Beep, beep, beep, whir, hiss clack.

 

 

The first time Mac caught himself dozing off, his hand was still loosely holding Jack’s. Reluctantly, he let it go and sat back in the chair, heeding the warning of the nurse, and not wanting to add more pain or damage to Jack’s broken body. Fatigue wouldn’t keep him from Jack. He planned to sleep in that uncomfortable hospital chair until the moment Jack opened his eyes.

Staring at Jack’s open, empty hand laying on top of the blanket, Mac drifted slowly to sleep.

He dreamed of that last day they’d spent together. One last day, just for them. No one else around. The last day that should have been the first after their kisses and admissions. But in his dream Mac had no mind for regretting, only savouring, just like the day it happened.

“This doesn’t change anything,” Jack said softly between kisses. “I have to go.”

“I know,” Mac replied. “I get it. But-” Jack silenced him with a hard kiss that was tongues meeting and hands in Mac's hair.

“No,” Jack said when they broke apart. “That’s it. No more discussion. No more talking about it at all. Let’s just spend the day together, and-”

“And then you’ll go,” Mac said firmly.

“Well, I still got time,” Jack said. “Need your help plannin’ on how to tell the rest of the family. I don’t know if I can do it. Say goodbye.”

Their faces were still close, arms wrapped up in each other: around shoulders, around waists, fingers tangled in hair.

Mac didn’t want to think about goodbye. Jack had always been a “see you later” type of guy, choosing not to make it final. But he’d started their conversation with a goodbye.

So Mac stopped talking and looped both arms tightly around Jack’s middle and pulled him close, losing himself in the taste of Jack’s mouth.

They spent the day on the couch watching movies, drinking beer, and holding each other in ways they’d never been able to before; arms around each other, legs thrown over one another, a head in a lap. All of these intimate and comfortable things that they’d both obviously craved and never reached out for. Mac tried not to think about it, but every once in a while the thought crept in: _years I could have had this, and now I just get one day._

During the slower parts, or some of the movies they knew so well they could both recite the whole script, they fell against each other and lost themselves in taste and sensation they hadn’t dared to share before. Clothes stayed on, it was all teenager-type stuff. They never went further than first base, but it was all they needed. Mac was afraid that if they pushed it further, it would just hurt more when he didn’t have it anymore. So they kept their love chaste and sweet, even if it was a little rough and tumble: rolling and pushing, and kissing so hard Mac’s lips felt bruised. It was rough housing with his best friend mixed up with caressing his lover.

As day turned to night, pizza was ordered and eaten. And then night started to lean toward early morning.

Mac didn’t want to go.

Jack read his mind as the credits rolled on what they’d said was their last movie. Though they’d claimed that about the previous one as well. “You can stay,” he offered, words casual, tone nervous.

“Real smooth Jack,” Mac offered up, as a joke. Laughter bubbled up in him and Jack caught it and laughed with him.

“I’m serious man,” Jack said once they’d stopped chuckling. “No funny business. But you can stay the night. No need to be runnin’ home at 2 AM. Not like you aint’ stayed over before.”

“It’s different now,” Mac said.

“Yeah, it makes way more sense now,” Jack wrapped his arm tighter around Mac’s shoulders and pulled him closer. He put his nose to Mac’s temple and spoke softly into his ear. “Please stay.”

Mac’s body erupted in goosebumps and those two words shivered down his body right to his toes. “Ok,” his body replied for him before his brain could intervene.

Jack shut down the TV and the DVD player, tangled his fingers with Mac’s, and led him to the bedroom.

Mac had spent the night in Jack’s bed before. They’d slept next to each other more times than they could count. But this time was different.

Jack gave him a shirt to sleep in. Again, not a first. And they stripped to their boxers.

Jack crawled in first, and Mac followed, tentative, laying stiff a good foot away from his partner.

“Get over here already,” Jack said, breaking the tension.

Mac rolled easily up against Jack. And they kissed again in earnest, rolling in the soft bed, tangling sheets and duvet around their bodies. It was the best game of tug-of-war Mac had ever been involved in: rolling on top, before being pushed underneath Jack’s sizeable frame; back and forth neither winning the war, and neither caring.

Finally when their breath was exhausted, they just fit their bodies together; Jack’s face tucked against Mac’s chest, arms around his waist; Mac’s leg thrown over Jack’s hip, hands running through Jack’s soft hair.

Jack mumbled something against Mac’s shirt. Well, Jack’s shirt that Mac was wearing.

“What’s that?” Mac asked sleepily, tracing Jack’s ear with a fingertip.

“I’m never lettin’ go,” Jack repeated, voice heavy with sleep.

The weight of those words crashed into Mac, and Jack’s arms around him felt like a crushing force. He wished they would just crush him so he’d never have to be without them again.

“Please don’t,” Mac whispered to the dark, but Jack was already asleep, snores starting to buzz against Mac’s chest.

Those arms gripped him tight as he woke up. And realized that they weren’t Jack’s arms at all, they were his own; wrapped around his stomach and holding himself tight against the chill in the sterile hospital room.

Mac’s head ached from crying and stress and grief and lack of sleep. The monitors continued to buzz. Jack’s chest continued to rise and fall. And all Mac wanted in the world was to crawl into that bed next to him and pull him close. Instead he sat feet away, afraid to touch the man he loved in case he caused him pain.

 

 

They kept telling Mac not to get his hopes up. And he didn’t. But he wouldn’t leave either.

After a few days, maybe closer to a week, Mac wasn’t keeping track, Riley and Bozer had been able to lure him out of Jack’s room and back to their hotel. Where they had made him shower and change and even sleep in a bed for a few hours.

But the moment he’d woken up, he’d called out for Jack, and been immediately agitated until they brought him back to the hospital; where Mac took up his station in the chair, waiting. Every day or two he’d let them take him away again to become a respectable human being, but like an addict, he itched without Jack’s presence. Mac never let them convince him to step away from the hospital for more than those basic needs, nothing even so simple as to have a meal with them.

He could see that it was killing Riley not to be allowed in. But with Jack still in such rough shape, only next of kin were approved by the doctor. So Mac sat there, day in and day out, hour after hour, listening to the machines and watching Jack for any sign of waking. Selfishly he was glad Riley couldn’t see Jack. Glad she didn’t have to see the messiness of war first hand. But also glad that he didn’t have to try to make conversation with anyone. Mac just wanted to sit and talk to Jack.

And he did. As though Jack could hear him. As though Jack was speaking back.

But then, finally, after ten days they removed the tubes that were breathing for Jack. Because Jack didn’t have Blast Lung and could breath on his own just fine.

It was a good sign, they told him. But Mac still wasn’t getting his hopes up. He knew if he hoped, and Jack didn’t push through, that he wouldn’t make it through either. Mac would break and never come back together. Instead he just sat next to Jack, and lightly held his hand, watching the bruises fade day by day, taking whatever time he could.

 

 

The day Jack opened his eyes and came back to the world of the living, Mac was sitting in the chair, holding Jack’s hand.

Jack’s fingers twitched, and it made Mac smile. Jack had been twitching more and more over the last few days. Another good sign, they said, it meant his brain was communicating with the rest of his body. Each time it happened, Mac smiled, but he told himself that it didn’t mean he was hoping.

Jack’s fingers twitched a second time, but this time they tightened as well. Mac sat up straight. A new development. 

The beeping on the monitors changed. Not drastically enough to be worrisome, but they became the unsteady beeping of a living creature. Not someone in stasis.

And then a noisy breath of air escaped Jack’s throat, along with a shifting of his body and his eyes fluttering open and then closing again.

Was he seizing? Mac stood up, unsure what to do except press the call button.

Jack’s head moved a little from side to side, and he gripped Mac’s hand tighter. His eyes opened again, tentatively this time and shut tight again.

A hissing, croak came out of Jack’s mouth, and he coughed a little like he was trying to clear his throat.

“Hey man,” Mac said softly, unsure what to say now that Jack was coming to. With so many days to sit and plan exactly what to do or say, he was shocked he hadn’t even thought about it. But, then again, he hadn’t been holding to hope. He’d been waiting to bury the man he loved. His mind had been elsewhere.

Jack tried to speak again, and this time his voice came out, but scratchy with disuse. It was so quiet that Mac missed most of it. “…Man… do you… turned… brights?”

And then the nurse came through the door.

“Please stand back MacGyver,” he said firmly. All the nurses knew his name.

A few more people came in behind him, including a doctor. Doctor Laghari. She was a good one. Efficient. From day one she hadn’t tried to throw sentiment and hopefulness at Mac. From day one she’d given him the science and the facts. They were kindred spirits and she’d known it from the get go.

“What’s happening?” Mac asked, trying not to sound worried. Jack was waking up, that was a good thing.

“Nothing’s happening MacGyver,” the doctor said. “I’ll answer your questions afterwards.”

After what? Mac wanted to ask. But he trusted the staff.

“Please wait outside,” the nurse asked, trying to herd him to the door.

“No, Mac,” Jack croaked. “Stay.”

“Mr. Dalton, how nice to finally meet you,” Laghari said with some syrupy bedside manner, and a wide smile as she leaned over Jack. “Mr. MacGyver will be close by, I promise. But we just need to get a look at you without him around raising your heart rate ok?”

Jack huffed something that could have been a chuckle, but sounded almost painful.

Mac let them usher him into the hall. And he was alone. Mac checked the time. It was 11 PM local. Which meant that Riley and Bozer had been forced out of the hospital because visiting hours were long over.

Mac leaned against the cold tiled wall and slid to the floor. He couldn’t breath. He ran his hands up through his hair, greasy since he hadn’t been back to the hotel in a day or so, and hung his head between his knees. He took deep breaths and told himself everything would be ok. He heard Jack’s voice in his head: _everything’s gonna be just fine hoss, quit your mother hennin’._ And Mac started laughing.

“Are you ok?” A voice asked beside him, and Mac felt a hand on his shoulder. It was the nurse from the first day.

Mac looked up into a concerned face. Mac’s cheeks hurt, and he wondered when the last time he really smiled was.

“Yeah, I think I’m going to be just fine,” Mac said. And for the first time since he’d gotten the call about Jack, he felt like that was true.

The nurse just smiled, patted Mac’s shoulder once, and made his way back to the nurse's station.

The doctor came out a few minutes later. “He’s not going to be awake long,” she said, “waking up is pretty taxing when you’ve been out of it so long, and your body’s in such rough shape. But he wants to talk to you first. Insisted on it.”

“He can be pretty persuasive,” Mac said, feeling like he was coming back to himself as he picked himself up off the floor. Like the fog was clearing.

“You’re telling me,” she said with a smile.

Mac pushed back into the room, and went right to Jack’s bedside, immediately taking Jack’s hand in a tight grip. The way he’d been wanting to hold Jack’s hand the entire time: with purpose.

“Hey man,” Mac said. He’d thought he was going to get choked up, but instead it felt like everything was falling back into place. And he felt fine.

“Hey dude,” Jack smiled up at him, but it looked like effort. His eyes were squinted against the light.

“Can we turn the lights down?” Mac turned to the nurse who was checking Jack’s IV.

The nurse nodded and turned one bank of lights off, the way they did at night to keep the people who couldn’t see outside on a regular time schedule.

In the dim light, Jack opened his eyes wider. And they were perfect. Dark brown, and deep and wonderful. Mac leaned closer.

“Gave me a bit of a scare,” Mac scolded, still smiling.

“Scared myself a little too,” Jack said. “Can’t say I remember much.” His voice grated, and even though Mac wanted to hear Jack talk all day, it sounded like it hurt.

“That’s fine,” Mac said, “you’re here. That’s all that matters.”

“Where’s here, Mac?” Jack asked.

“Later,” Mac said. “Right now you need to sleep.”

“I think I just woke up, but damn if I ain’t so tired,” Jack’s voice was getting sleepy already. And it pulled Mac back to that night they’d spent wrapped up in each other’s arms. Jack’s sleepy voice against his t-shirt.

“Shhh,” Mac said, he reached out a hand instinctively to run it through Jack’s hair, but stopped short. No touching. The #1 rule from day one: you can stay at this bedside, but no touching or you’ll hurt him. He pulled his hand back and held the rail on the bedside tightly so he wouldn’t falter again. “It’s ok Jack. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“You’d better be hoss, or there'll be hell to pay,” Jack was starting to mumble as sleep took him back. “Got some things… to say… to you…”

And then he was asleep. But he was so still that Mac’s heart stopped for a moment, and he looked at the doctor questioningly.

“He’s fine,” the doctor reassured. “Just sleeping.” And then she took the time to teach Mac just exactly what to look for on the bio monitor; what meant sleeping, what meant unconsciousness; what meant not normal, call the nurse.

Mac took up the post in his chair again.

Jack couldn’t remember what had happened to him. Mac wasn’t looking forward to that conversation. And if he didn’t remember the mission, or what they’d been doing, how much further back did he remember? Did he remember their day together? Even if he didn’t, his feelings wouldn’t have changed, and Mac felt safe and secure that they could share that first kiss all over again if they had to. And maybe this time it wouldn’t have to be sad.

 

 

Jack’s periods of consciousness got longer and longer. From minutes, to a half hour, to an hour and then longer.

After the first few days the doctor agreed to finally let Riley and Bozer in to visit. Thought it would be good for Jack.

Riley tried to hug him right off the bat, but Mac had caught her up in a tight grip and pulled her back from the bed. “Still too much bruising,” he explained. “Hugs will have to wait for a bit longer.”

They all sat around the bed and talked and joked and reminisced. Jack still hadn’t brought what he'd shared with Mac, and since they hadn’t told anybody in the first place, Mac kept things friendly, the way they’d been before; no touching or hand holding now that there were other people in the room. When all Mac wanted was to take Jack’s hand and never let it go, instead he twined his fingers together until his knuckles turned white while he fought the instinct. He didn’t need to grasp onto Jack at every moment, because there were endless moments for that stretching out in front of them. Not that anything between them in the hospital had gone beyond the comforting touches of concerned friends, but Mac felt transparent, like anything would give away his feelings.

Mac didn’t even listen to what they were saying. He watched them flail and talk and laugh, and laughed along with them when it seemed appropriate. And he relished Jack’s deep, comforting rumble, but Mac didn’t hear any of the words. He was so relieved and his brain had been working overtime on what if’s, so he just let everyone else lead the conversation.

 

 

Jack brought it up on the first day he was allowed out of bed. Once he’d woken up, healing started to happen more quickly and within another week he was sitting up and ready to walk around. But the doctor had made him wait an extra few days.

Finally Jack sat with his legs dangling over the edge of the bed, ready to set his bare feet down on the cool tile floor for the first time since they’d brought him in. Mac watched with anticipation. Riley and Bozer were still back at the hotel. It was early, visiting hours hadn’t started yet.

Jack tensed his arm muscles, ready to push off of the bed, when he looked up at Mac and relaxed again. He kicked his feet around like they were a new invention.

“Come here,” Jack requested. His voice had returned to normal after several days of constant conversation.

“You need help?” Mac asked, stepping closer.

“Not exactly,” Jack said playfully as he stopped kicking his feet.

Mac stepped closer still. “What’s up?”

Jack grabbed his hands and pulled him in. His bruises and cuts were healed enough that close contact was allowed; he’d had his first Riley hug the day before. Jack pulled Mac in close so he was standing between Jack’s knees, thighs pressed against the edge of the hospital bed, pushing Jack’s gown up almost indecently. Jack slid his hands around Mac’s waist and laid them flat on his lower back.

It felt so good that Mac wanted to cry, and groan and do everything at once. Instead he stood perfectly still. Jack was still hurt. He was delicate. Mac closed his eyes and let his head fall back. Afraid of what he would do if he could see anything in Jack’s eyes.

Jack’s hands travelled back around to the front and ran up Mac’s stomach and chest until they held his face and pulled Mac’s gaze back down toward him, and then further still until their lips met.

Jack didn’t taste like Jack. He tasted like medicine and sterile hospital air. But that was ok, because he was Jack, and he would get better. 

Jack whined into his mouth when their lips opened. Jack pulled back too quickly, but Mac didn’t chase him. Jack puffed out laboured breaths between them and pressed their foreheads together. Mac still didn’t open his eyes.

“I thought maybe… you forgot,” Mac said softly.

“Forgot what?” Jack joked.

Mac laughed and opened his eyes, meeting Jack’s brown gaze and beautiful big smile. “You don’t have to be a dick about it,” Mac replied.

Jack’s smile faded. “How could I forget this,” he said, bringing his hands back down to wrap around Mac’s body, holding him tight. “Ain’t nothin’ could make me forget this.”

Mac’s arms dangled at his side, unsure of where he could touch or what he could do that wouldn’t cause Jack any pain.

“Come on man, I ain’t broken,” Jack pleaded.

“Well… that’s debatable,” Mac joked, planting a small chaste kiss at Jack’s temple.

“Oh ha ha,” Jack said. “Seriously Mac, I need you to touch me, please.”

“I don’t want to…” he trailed off as he held his hands up, motioning toward Jack. The words “hurt you” hung in the air unsaid.

Jack took Mac’s forearms and flung one over each of his shoulders. Mac’s arms tightened instinctively and they pulled each other into a hug, bodies close and tight against each other, Jack’s head tucked just under Mac’s chin.

“I have been waiting for this since that first day I woke up in here,” Jack rumbled against Mac’s chest.

“Every single day I wanted to crawl into this stupid bed beside you and hold you,” Mac admitted. “But I couldn’t.”

“The pain would have been worth it,” Jack said, burying his face into Mac.

“Mr. Dalton,” Doctor Laghari’s amused, but firm voice smashed their moment like a windowpane.

Mac tried to jump back, but Jack held him tight, the strength returning to his body.

“I don’t recall clearing you for… extracurricular activities yet,” she mused.

“Just a little romance,” Jack said with a grin, “nothing too strenuous.”

“Good, let’s keep it that way,” she said, “or Mr. MacGyver will find himself welcome only during visitor’s hours. And with a chaperone. Am I clear.”

Mac cleared his throat, still trying to pull away from Jack, who was holding fast. “Crystal,” he said. “Crystal clear doctor. No problem at all.”

“Ok, then let’s get you on your feet Mr. Dalton.”

 

 

Much to Doctor Langhari’s surprise, Jack recovered quicker than they’d expected him to, and was home in LA before anyone thought he would be.

Mac drove from the airport. A strange role reversal. He just didn’t feel right with the steering wheel sliding through his fingers while Jack was in the car.

“You’re going the wrong way hoss,” Jack pointed out. The few times Mac had needed to drive them somewhere, Jack spent the entire drive being a backseat driver. Some things never changed.

“No, I’m not,” Mac answered vaguely.

“But this is the way to your house, not mine,” Jack said.

“That’s cause you’re staying at my place for a while,” Mac said.

“Ok. I get it,” Jack started, back to full strength when it came to talking. “Poor Jacky boy’s all banged up, and you’re gonna take care of him until he gets back on his feet. Dude. I _am_ back on my feet. I don’t need no mama hen lookin’ over my shoulder every minute of every damn day. And I miss my own damn bed.”

“Well,” Mac started, because he’d thought about this already. “Your own damn bed is up three flights of stairs right now. So, if you think that you want me to drop you off and let you climb up three flights of stairs. I can absolutely let you do that. Or, you can come back to my place, and sleep in my very comfortable bed in a house where everything is all on the ground level.”

Jack was silent.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Mac said, “did you want me to turn around and head back to your place?”

Jack sighed. “No, smart ass. Seems like you’ve got all the bases covered.”

 

 

The travel time, in addition to still recovering, had Jack “about done in” by the time they got to Mac’s.

“You can unpack tomorrow,” Mac said as he dropped Jack’s bag in the corner of his room and pushed Jack toward the bed.

“Unpack?” Jack asked sleepily. “Just how long do you expect me to be stayin’?”

Mac wanted to say forever. But that was too dramatic and too much commitment for something that had just started. Instead he stayed quiet and didn’t answer.

Mac pulled back the covers and pushed Jack down on the bed. Then he turned and started pulling the curtains shut on the bright day. With the time change and their jet lag, Mac couldn’t even remember what time it was, but the California sun was shining bright.

When he turned back, Jack was crawling into bed in just his boxers.

“Have a good sleep,” Mac said, heading toward the door.

“Come to bed with me,” Jack requested from where his face was planted in a pile of very comfortable looking pillows.

“You need to sleep,” Mac said.

“Oh, I’m gonna sleep, but I want you here with me,” Jack said, sitting up a little in bed so that Mac could see he was making conscious requests and wasn’t talking in his sleep. “Come on dude, you look worse than I feel. You probably need a good sleep too. What better place than right here with old Jacky boy?”

Mac smiled. It was all he wanted in the world. The only thing he’d craved since he first saw Jack in that hospital bed. The only thing he’d craved since the night Jack had wrapped him up in his arms and slept with him, if he was honest with himself.

“Yeah, ok,” Mac said, giving in to what he wanted. There was no reason not to.

Mac quickly stripped down to his underwear and then grabbed Jack’s t-shirt from the floor, slipping it over his head. It smelled like Jack, not hospital. Things were starting to finally get back to normal again. He looked down at this bed, where Jack was holding open the covers for him. Well, maybe things weren't _exactly_ the same as they had been before.

Mac crawled in beside Jack, and unlike the first time, didn’t need to be invited; he snuggled up right next to Jack. He put his hand flat on Jack’s chest, and then slid it around until he was holding Jack close.

Their lips met briefly, but Jack was already starting to nod off.

Jack tucked his face down into Mac’s neck. “I should’a brought you along,” Jack said sleepily against Mac’s skin.

Mac had thought about it so many times. The things he’d said when Jack was unconscious; about how he shouldn’t have listened and should have just followed Jack anyway. About how sorry he was that he hadn’t just gone with his gut. About how Jack wouldn’t have gotten into the mess if Mac had been there to defuse the bomb. Mac hadn’t said any of those things to Jack after he’d woken up. He’d gotten it out of his system. And they were all only half truths anyway. It was the past, and they’d done what they’d done, and there was no changing it. Mac wasn’t mad at Jack. He was just grateful to have him.

So instead of bringing it all back to light, and saying all of those things that had been bouncing around his head, Mac just kissed Jack’s temple. “Let’s remember that for next time,” he said softly before they both drifted off to sleep.


End file.
